Jesus Cloned

By William Hagenbuch

Nineteen-year-old Joe ODell is about to learn he is not who he thinks he is.

Soon after being introduced to Betsy, a spirited coed unlike anyone he has met, Joe is abducted to a private, billion-dollar lab. There he discovers the unbelievable: he has been cloned from two-thousand-year-old burial lines that may have been Jesus Christs. Held captive, Joe watches his almost normal life through scenes recorded by a genius who wants to know if his clone is divine or not. Distraught, Joe flees. On his own, the once tender now broken soul welcomes darkness, even sin.

The runaway never forgets Betsy who, after just one meeting, becomes a light to him, a beacon. Joe also remembers his college roommate, a modern-day matchmaker with his own struggle.

When he returns to the life he knew, Joe reconnects with his dad and the old neighborhood that now includes new faces. Before being called to help one special person become one great minister someday, Joe touches everyone around him with his truth: God is within each of us.

Jesus Cloned is a gentle, often funny, scientifically engaging, irrevocably sweet and heartwarming journey. Through their losses and gains, Joe and those closest to him reveal to themselvesand to all of ushow far Gods love reaches, and how much that love heals.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Oct 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781480830776

William Hagenbuch

William Hagenbuch is a MDiv graduate of Boston University’s School of Theology who loves public speaking, teaching, writing, and hiking in the woods. He is a full-time pastor with the First Congregational Church-UCC of Harford, Pennsylvania. Contact Will at williamhagenbuch.com, or reach him through Facebook. He welcomes conversation. William Hagenbuch is a MDiv graduate of Boston University’s School of Theology who loves public speaking, teaching, writing, and hiking in the woods. He is a full-time pastor with the First Congregational Church-UCC of Harford, Pennsylvania. Contact Will at williamhagenbuch.com, or reach him through Facebook. He welcomes conversation.

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Copyright © 2016 William Hagenbuch.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

All scripture within Jesus Cloned is from the New Living Translation Bible.

Archway Publishing

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.archwaypublishing.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Scripture quotations taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, Copyright © 1996, 2004. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois 60189. All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4808-3075-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-3076-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-3077-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016909438

Archway Publishing rev. date: 11/14/2016

CONTENTS

Part I: The Father

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Part II: The Son

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty Seven

Part III: The Holy Spirit

Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty One

Chapter Forty Two

Chapter Forty Three

Chapter Forty Four

Chapter Forty Five

Chapter Forty Six

Chapter Forty Seven

Chapter Forty Eight

Chapter Forty Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty One

Chapter Fifty Two

Chapter Fifty Three

Chapter Fifty Four

Chapter Fifty Five

Chapter Fifty Six

Chapter Fifty Seven

Chapter Fifty Eight

Chapter Fifty Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty One

Chapter Sixty Two

Chapter Sixty Three

Chapter Sixty Four

Chapter Sixty Five

Chapter Sixty Six

Epilogue

WHAT THIS NOVEL IS AND ISN’T.

Fiction is a series of what ifs. For example, what if a multimillionaire holds an affinity for ancient religious artifacts and shares this love with her grandson, an odd kid who knows a lot about the Battle of Hastings? What if a college sophomore introduces his best friends and the setup flops at first? What if a new deacon’s stomach flutters around the committee chairperson, a single dad nicknamed Hunk? What if a well-intentioned neighbor stumbles upon a national security level surveillance device pointed at his neighbor’s house?

In chronological order, Jesus Cloned includes these and other what ifs within this question: what if burial shrouds from a mountainside tomb in Jerusalem have been miraculously preserved for two-thousand-years and the DNA from these wisps actually produces a human being?

Let this novel be what it is—fiction.

JC is not a Christological resource. No intentional stances on the nature and/or the being of the Son of God are here. Instead, JC invites reflection on our sinful natures and our need for what Jesus did on the cross.

Let me be clear. I mean no disrespect to anyone’s theology, belief system, religious views or traditions. I did not write JC for anyone to argue over, though it’s your prerogative to do so if you wish. Instead, the intent of this novel is to understand in a new way that we have a Savior who understands our sins and forgives us for them when we turn to Him.

Study guide questions are at the end of this novel, and I hope they bring depth and personal applications to your journey with the Author of your lives. Engage them as you like, or use only a few as springboards into small group conversations.

Daily I prayed for this novel to be published. Now I pray for those who read it. May God bless you with peace and a connectedness to Christ.

Will

"I am the LORD; that is my name!

I will not give my glory to anyone else,

nor share my praise with carved idols."

— Isaiah 42:8

PART I

THE FATHER

PROLOGUE

Now Roland, she announced with an emotion I did not understand, "we do not know for certain whose grave cloths these are."

I didn’t have to look at Grand directly; we had established this years earlier.

What we do know is that these ancient dressings are the spoils of wars fought through the Middle Ages.

The towering grandfather clock clicked to 12:28 PM, and at that precise moment I knew I was exactly nine-and-a-half-years old. In readying myself for what I would have to do over lunch—engage in dreadful conversation—I considered the obvious: I knew three-hundred-thirty-two facts about the Middle Ages, eighty on The Battle of Hastings itself.

The burial linens I’m about to show you date back over two-thousand-years. Slowly Grand’s memories traveled down the dining table that in her golden era could seat at least twenty, but now hosted only two.

Emotions meant nothing to me; they were unpredictable; but Grand’s silence forced me to consider her feelings for fourteen unproductive seconds.

She turned to me. Roland? Her expression told me our first course would not be served until I spoke. What would you like to say about these linens?

Interesting.

She waited for more.

Very interesting.

Grand knew her only heir was little more than a machine, a human computer. My lack of enthusiasm neither dissuaded nor dulled her interest. Instead, her eyes swirled from their placid brown to an enveloping black as she peered into the box. I had seen them change only one other time, which was at my father’s funeral one year ago. A gauche yet well-intentioned employee offered in a receiving line what was untrue. He said Grand loved her son loved so very much.

She inched closer to the safe’s contents. We do not know their precise origin, dear child. That alone keeps this so intriguing.

The once religious New Englander measured her next words carefully, as if she’d inhaled incense from a dark, dank, depressed church whose stern pews sagged with a rudimentary theology that drove more parishioners to hell than to some so-called heaven. How intricate the tension between fact and faith, especially to the disenfranchised.

She wasn’t telling me anything I hadn’t already considered.

"Just the thought that these tattered, ancient wrappings could be the very articles left in Jesus’ tomb—fascinating."

The whereabouts of that tomb are unknown.

I suddenly realized Grand was interested in what things were whereas I was interested in what things could do. Though the matriarch had made her own millions, I would quadruple my inheritance in the next thirty years by living out her overuse of the commoner’s saying, Never say never.

My attention returned to the box so that we could dine and I could return to my studies. You don’t know that these were, in fact, Jesus’.

Roland, listen. These wisps of fabric are over two-thousand-years-old. The Gospel of John states Jesus was not buried in a single shroud, such as the one venerated in Turin, Italy. Whether or not these are Christ’s remains unknown. Regardless of who was buried with these linens, this is certain: these contents came from a stone tomb in Jerusalem at the time of Pontius Pilate.

I stopped paying attention at that point because the Morse code she was sending through her shaky hands, though erratic, became my greater interest. Tomorrow. Blue Bonnets. Stop. Cocoa. Chocolate. Cocoa. Stop. Bonnets. Blue. Bonnets. Stop. Meaningless.

Seven-and-a-half years before fellow scientist Ian Wilmut and his famous cloned sheep Dolly launched headlines across the globe on July 5, 1996, I did succeed at the challenge indirectly instilled within me. I cloned the human who had been buried in these remains. Advancements unavailable to my grandmother at the time she presented her treasure did prove that these two-thousand-year-old remnants originated from a mountainside stone tomb in Jerusalem. What has yet to be determined is whether the clone has a divine nature, or a human one. Either way, I remain intrigued. Grand had ancient cloth; I have what could be a living Jesus.

At eight pounds, twenty-one inches, the clone was born on December 19, 1989 at 9:19 PM. The surrogate mother, who was virginal, will receive only a nod in the future. The young woman from Nazareth, whose linage there dated back at least three-hundred years, would have been induced at 9:15 on the evening of December 24, but God or nature had its own timetable.

The birth night was unexceptional. The starry array sang no song. The breeze didn’t twirl in any dance. As forecasted, the wind flowed at an even pace out of the southwest at six miles per hour. No guiding, blazing star filled the darkness. No shepherds found their way to the lab. This newborn was no miracle. In fact, the clone immediately performed in the most normal ways. At both a glance and under intense scrutiny, Joseph was just that, Joseph.

I named the subject after his earthly, carpenter father. I do not regret not calling him Jesus because the ancient words within the scrolls of Isaiah may be right in what they assert: there was only one pure, spotless, sinless lamb. To date, no contemporary Simeon or Anna recognized the child’s divinity when he was taken by mock parents to be presented at the temple in accordance with the traditions of Moses.

Another sign that cast doubt on the theory of the clone being divine was no modern magi brought gifts. No one with great affluence met and then averted a present-day Herod by going home another way after having been in the company of this god on earth. Of course, travelers from the East, or anywhere for that matter, would never think to present my little king with their valuables because my Joseph, as the trite saying goes, never went without the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth—at least at first. Just as calculated however, that changed.

Lab tech Larry Dunkin O’Dell thought he had rescued eighteen-month-old Joseph from my lab. Under a false agenda, Larry, who tested best in how I wished the toddler to be raised, had been strategically placed under my employment on January 14, 1990—exactly three weeks after the birth. A series of planned events beginning on January 3, 1991 compelled Larry to take little Joseph, whom he stupidly nicknamed Joey. On schedule, the chosen caregiver actually believed he was kidnapping the clone, or delivering the clone, from a center of science to a home of love.

All this time, Larry has believed in his success. The now forty-one-year-old high school science teacher has had Joseph for seventeen-and-a-half years, but I have been the one who has had the ever watchful eye and ear—the omnipresence?—on the distinctively Middle-Eastern looking dark-haired, dark-eyed nineteen-year-old. Indeed, I have known exactly where my subject has been since he left. Physicians, geneticists, psychologists, sociologists—even a developmental behaviorist doubling as a soccer coach—have reported directly to me. For the past six years, two employees have posed as next-door neighbors to spy on the subject in what has appeared to be a typical, suburban life.

While Christianity wearies me in its inability to solidify its facts, some theologians over the centuries have suggested Jesus never became fully divine until his baptism in the Jordan River. If this was indeed true, then it may be the clone must reach the age of at least thirty before godly powers manifest. A few incredible events have been documented through the years, including the boy knowing lyrics to a song he had never heard. He also revived a Golden Retriever from death. While these isolated incidents do not prove divinity, they do make this the most fascinating experiment of my career.

The subject will meet the one who could be the love of his life, and that, according to careful planning, will be tomorrow morning. I will make myself known shortly thereafter. He will need medical treatment only I can provide. In a very short while, I will close the distance between us. Until this fast-approaching time arrives, I will do what I have always done: wait to see if Joseph is—or will be—the Son of God cloned.

CHAPTER ONE

The water wanted to laugh. The rushing cascades certainly appeared to be excited, and Mike reflected all of this in his smile. With open arms, he turned to help his best friend Betsy down to the angled boulder that jutted into the fast-paced creek. From here, the two could see his new Bible College roommate a short distance downstream. In front of this picturesque view, Mike was surprised to see Betsy holding storm clouds in her eyes while light danced within his. He looked out again. Joe dropped down to the clear water’s edge. His short, soft brown hair shined in the sun. He had just rolled up the long sleeves of his shirt and set his chest on a rounded rock so he could peer into the tiny waves that had slowed down in front of him. His expression held joy. When Mike glanced back to Betsy, it was clear she was looking in the same direction he was but took in something entirely different. Mike thought on this. What surprised him even more than the fact that she wasn’t seeing the same scene was that she wasn’t seeing the same person.

Betsy knew from Mike’s expression that he was going to ask her what was wrong. Before he could open his mouth, she said, Oh nothing.

‘Oh nothing’ always meant something. While Betsy knew Mike was in some happy place, she wondered how they wound up here because she had thought the day would include just the two of them. In fact, that was what they had agreed upon when they planned this outing weeks ago. She did not know she’d meet this new guy at the Bible College until she arrived at Mike’s dorm an hour ago.

Oh, Mike had said casually as the three stood near student parking where she had just left her car. This is Joe. He’s coming with us, okay?

It was not okay. For her, this day had been filled with unwelcomed surprises and sudden turns, both of which she did not like. This park was not her idea. Having this third wheel along was definitely not her idea.

Here, on this stupid, insanely big rock, she bit down on her lower molars and her bad mood because she’d been duped, tricked. It should have been obvious that her real-life Cupid would plot to get her out of her current relationship rut. Captain Mike was, after all, the self-proclaimed champion of her happiness.

Though clearly not dressed for an outdoor adventure, Betsy wanted to get back on the nearby trail, or, even better, get out of this mess altogether and return to her car which they had left near the park’s entrance a quarter mile back. This obvious set-up with the Water Boy Wonder was not the answer. The straight-A mechanical engineering major with a full social calendar, which included two dates with two different guys next weekend, was far from needing to be fixed up with anyone. And this truth would set her free: this river rock loving religious dork was well below her level. If Mike’s new Bible College buddy were a fish, and the imagery seemed appropriate given where they were, she’d toss this deep-thinking, non-materialistic, artist-type back into the water. Done. Move on. Next?

Mike, who only saw love and delight in the one he bunked with at the school they both cherished, caught on to her body language. The best buds didn’t always agree on everything, but it was rare when they didn’t align at all. Tell me what is wrong.

You honestly don’t get this.

I honestly don’t get this.

Mr. Splish-Splash, your frog prince who has moved to be ankle deep in the silt? Yeah, he’s all yours. I’m good. Trust me, I can find my own dates.

Sure, you can find guys to go out with, Mike wondered, but are any of them close to being right for you?

Betsy returned to their original idea, which was not a trip to a park with a guy she did not care to meet. The two were going to shop for her parents’ wedding anniversary gift and then have lunch at a high-end restaurant to celebrate her first summer internship. Mike loved her parents, was the shopper between the two of them, and he was deeply glad her long-lived dream of being a mechanical engineer was taking another step. When Joe laughed freely from the perch of a smaller rock further from them, she had had enough. Mike, really. This is so stupid.

This is so stupid, or I’m so stupid?

He has done this before. Playing the victim was not new. What annoyed her this time was that he was sounding soft and philosophical like his new roommate. Yes, Mike was taking on the airs of Joe who was too confident, too content. Stretched out in the back seat with the sun across his shoulders on their ride to the park, the inward guy, this complete stranger, didn’t seem bothered by anything or anyone. This unnerved her.

Mike tried again. Is this stupid, or am I stupid?

She did not like Joe, and she certainly did not like this. Save your inner turmoil, Michael. Carrying around my therapist’s couch for you every day gets a little heavy.

He could not believe what he had just heard. Suddenly shut down, Mike found himself staring at a fern growing across the narrow ravine. The level-headed girl he had been inseparable with since first grade has not been herself for more than a year. Yes, he knew her upcoming weekend included meeting two upperclassmen with great resumes and even greater social credibility, but he sensed this was all wrong.

Mike focused on the sound of the current and realized Joe was exploring the water like a nine-year-old so that the two could have needed space. Yes, Joe loved nature, particularly the water when it rushed past him, but he was choosing to remain apart from them so that they could come together.

Betsy shook her head. Honestly? I just don’t get this.

Mike hoped that Joe would see Betsy as a fellow adventurer who needed to explore her inner terrain on her own terms. He shrugged one of his mile-wide shoulders. If the Bible College actually had a football team, which it didn’t, he could be two linebackers, not one. You mean, you don’t get him.

She stepped up to his chest. I know you see me and my dating life as an ongoing train wreck, but it’s my wreck.

Betsy attended Indiana State University, about three hours northwest of where they were now. For months, she’d been pulling away from Mike, the boy next door to her parents’ stately All-American Colonial. She had casually dated guys she knew he wouldn’t approve of, especially now that they were at different schools. Her personal choices were hurting her—she herself would admit that—but she could not see why he ruined this day by including a fellow sophomore who was a little too esoteric, a little too easygoing.

She gathered her long, light-colored hair which had recently folded over her shoulder and returned it to her back. And don’t give me sympathy. I don’t want those looks of yours.

Mike sank his hands into the front pockets of his shorts. He glanced back to Joe, and then to his hiking shoes. Part one of his plan was failing. He may not get to part two of why he brought these two together today.

Yes. Keep the ‘boohoo’ to yourself.

Together Betsy and Joe did make sense, at least to Mike, yet he began to give in to his own doubts. Still, he knew he wasn’t entirely wrong. Joe had character and charm. This new person in his life could soothe a heartbreak with a few wise words, welcome the stranger, and see the person no one else noticed.

Betsy couldn’t take Mike’s silence. I need some space. She turned to leave the water’s edge. I’ll be at the car.

Mike had always been the one to hold onto an argument until it was settled, but this time he said something neither expected. Go. He looked in the general direction of where her car was parked. Yeah. Go.

Oh, I am out of here.

When she reached land, Mike called back to her. You were right. Today was about you meeting Joe. I didn’t play this right in introducing you, I get that. I should have told you about Joe, and about how I wanted him to come with us. The often soft-spoken one was good with other people’s messes, not his own. Nevertheless, he had to say it. But today is also about me.

What?

There was a reason I wanted the two of you to get together. Yes, I did want you two to meet. But this isn’t just about you. Could it be that I want both of you to hear something? For me?

She couldn’t take another twist, another turn—at least not now. Uncertain if Joe could hear her over the sound of the rushing water, she said loudly, Enjoy the view.

He’d just been cut inside.

And take your time.

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As the two guys sat quietly, Joe prayed. It was obvious his roommate needed time and space. The newcomer sensed some hard words had scraped against this longstanding friendship. Joe remained still beside Mike and realized he was—and then again was not—a part of their spat. Even before he met Betsy, Joe had guessed Mike was setting up what could be a romantic connection. Joe knew Mike wanted two of the most important people in his life to say hello and spend time together, but it was more than that. After a few minutes had passed, Joe figured it was time for his buddy to open up. Okay man, you have to spill.

Mike stretched out his long, athletic legs. Staring just ahead, he waited a moment. She’s a good soul, Joe.

You’ve said that since you first started telling me about her.

I don’t know how to help her.

Yes, you do.

Mike knew Joe had a way of talking like this. What do you mean?

You love her. You care for her. Joe pulled on the sleeve of his shirt. And this is my hunch since we got here. There’s a good reason why you planned this day, this meeting.

Yeah, Mike offered sarcastically. And it’s going so well.

Joe laughed. This is going well.

Maybe you didn’t hear everything between Betsy and me.

I didn’t hear anything between you two. But I sense how this afternoon has been a battle for the two of you.

Even though they were born on the same day in the same year, Mike could be like a student to this teacher. So then, how is this going well?

You’re helping her see what she doesn’t want to, and that’s herself.

How’d you get so smart?

Joe looked at his feet. Trying to be funny, he answered, I go barefoot a lot.

Mike waited for Joe to say more, but Joe just wiggled his toes.

That’s your answer? You’re smart because your feet are often naked?

Staring ahead, Joe stayed quiet. In the comfortable quiet between them, Mike returned to how neither he nor Betsy saw Joe in the same way. He remembered a remark his New Testament professor had made just yesterday. Not everyone saw Jesus the same way.

As if he had just read Mike’s thoughts, Joe turned to his friend with a look that showed great care. You just keep doing what you’re doing.

Which includes giving her time.

Joe nodded. Which includes giving her time.

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On the winding path to the car, Betsy suddenly stopped. Mike was right. This was not just a setup with some skinny dude with a warm voice and a buzz hair cut who seemed to know both her and Mike a little too well. She and Joe had been invited here because her super-sized Prince Charming had something he needed to share.

She swallowed. How cruel she had been, how stupid. She knew what Mike had wanted to tell them. In fact, she had known about this for a long, long time. As she quickly pivoted to get back to the water, she realized how wrong she had been.

After hurrying along the path, she stopped a few feet from the creek because she was puzzled. Mike was standing alone. Curious, she took a step closer. She jumped back when Joe shot out of the water.

His heavy shorts tugged at his trim waist, but he either didn’t notice or care. Instead, he focused on how the rushing cascade danced over his chest and arms. It was a delight on his bare skin. The whirling water exhilarated and refreshed. It revived and relieved. Joe loved this.

Mike caught Betsy out of the corner of his eye. When she stood beside him, he said what was obvious. He’s crazy, you know.

Betsy knew the water temperature was chilled in the mid-fifties range, if that. I’m beginning to see this.

Despite what had happened earlier, Mike still wanted her to see even more. He is a good guy, Bets. I know this didn’t start out so well, but you two do share a lot in common.

Betsy realized she’d rather go along with this hopeless romantic and be bumped a bit from where she was standing, which was in a place where she was not interested in being smitten by this new guy. Despite her reluctance earlier, she could at least try to go with this not-so-subtle setup. To honor Mike, she looked not into the white-tipped water but into her own heart and found she still wanted to keep it locked, boarded up, and closed for a season or two.

He’s your type. Brainy. Sensitive. Attentive. Politically ignorant. He has a blank canvas for you in that he thinks the White Soxs are white socks.

Uh, white socks are just white socks.

Mike barely shook his head and she knew, of course, what he was thinking. His silence forced her to reveal what happened last night with her team, the Chicago White Soxs. The Royals took them at home in a doubleheader.

And Wilson was on the mound to start, or was it —

She didn’t answer.

Mike rocked back and forth on his feet. He glanced left and right. Bets?

It was Wilson.

Ah, yes. Wilson.

Before he could ask, she added, No, I don’t want to know something else.

You sure ‘bout that?

She was never as good at this banter as he was. Into the quiet, she caved. Alright. What? What don’t I know?

It’s just a something.

What?

Joe doesn’t leave toothpaste smudges in the sink either.

Head down, Betsy muttered about a sports article she never should have mentioned.

Mike continued. Me? I’m glad you shared Wilson’s bathroom sink hygiene with me. I’m a better guy because of it. Wilson? He’s a role model, a gem. When he’s done, he probably dries the sink too, or at least wipes the countertop with a … He let her finish.

…with a towel he refolds.

A hand towel, right? Isn’t that what you said? Not one of those unnecessary big ones.

She raised one hand as she thought of that fact-filled sports article one more time. Just so you know, there will be no more over-sharing with you.

Mike decided he’d won, which, if Betsy were to keep score, was something he often did. He lifted his square jaw. So, this is a go?

This is a no.

Oh?

No.

Whoa.

Before she could shoot another word, rhyme or not, and on a good day the two could compete with a kindergarten teacher’s Dr. Seuss read aloud, a thundering rumble like an eighteen-wheeler sounded from above. There may have been a voice, too. Then again, the creek was loud. The two along the shoreline watched Joe’s toes bob in the water. The five-foot-eleven, one-hundred-seventy-one pounder stretched out on his back. He spun counter-clockwise against the current.

Betsy felt it was time to share what she needed to say. Mike, listen. Enough silliness. She held his hand, which was something she rarely did because Mike could be weird about touch. You were right. I made this about me, and that was wrong.

Bets.

I am really sorry.

Betsy spotted a nearby clearing with two fallen trees that could be seats. Still hand in hand, Mike followed. She chose to sit on the trunk where she faced the woods, not the stream. You are right, she said. I am not dating the best guys.

You are this whole, wonderful person—fun, complicated, assertive, even insecure. You become someone else when you date. He leaned closer to her. Do not box away who you are.

She tried to hear him. He had spoken most of these words with her before, but then, like now, it was hard for her to hear.

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Neither Mike nor Betsy knew exactly when the moment happened, but the plan B part of this day had begun. Betsy ignored the fact that Joe was shirtless and wet when she called for him. He found a nearby rock where he could join them. Joe and Betsy looked at each other, and then to Mike. The time had come.

Mike felt himself starting to lock up, but he prayed for strength. This day had been hard on him, even before Betsy had walked away. This life had been hard on him, too. With good parents, good schools, and good friends, he realized this difficulty was his own masterpiece. He swallowed a truth he’d rather avoid: unlike Joe who could find such joy in splashing around in bone-chilling water, he couldn’t walk into being happy with himself for any length of time.

The two people who meant the most to him waited for him as the walls that had been securely around him for so long began to slide from their familiar places. Moving closer, Joe set his hand on Mike’s shoulder, then the top of his arm. His warm brown eyes spoke volumes of care, more so than Betsy ever would have imagined. Silent, she just watched.

We love you, Michael. We do. We’ll wait. Take your time.

CHAPTER TWO

On his twin bed, wearing just a pair of soft, striped boxer shorts under the tattered sheet that has been with him for two consecutive summers at a nearby Christian camp for kids, Joe rolled onto his back. As he did this, he could smell a trace of the afternoon near the creek. He could have showered when he and Mike returned, but didn’t. Scents from nature were always good to him. The other reason he didn’t shower was the library book about Saint Augustine had pulled him into its pages.

Wiggling his toes over his mattress, which was something he did without thinking about it, Joe set the book down on the floor under his bed and reflected on the day. After leaving the park, the three stopped at a quaint country store for something to drink. Mike had stayed in the car alone while Joe bought two Spark Sharks, an almost dangerous blue soda. He saved the tabs because the glance Betsy gave him when they were at the cashier’s counter was one he never wanted to forget.

Here, in the quiet of this early summer evening, where the circle of his lit desk lamp overlapped Mike’s, he considered how Betsy had changed in the hours he had spent with her. After Mike had shared what he did, Betsy moved from being guarded and argumentative to open, kind, and trusting. Her spirit and spunk kept him guessing, and he liked that. He knew she was one who would not deviate from the plan, which was actually Her Plan. In fact, each chapter in her story better have a happy ending, or she’d push or pull until it did. Joe saw that she fought for balance, not just for herself but for those closest to her. Betsy wrestled with fate like no one he had met before, and Joe knew that if she did lose, she would not stay down long.

Her angry mood told him that she was one who was devoutly faithful to those closest to her. When she did commit to someone, the commitment meant forever. In the little things she would say and do for Mike, like to make sure he not only heard but also accepted a compliment, Joe knew of her ability to love. He could taste her care, and it was sweet. As he continued wiggling his toes, he laced his fingers behind his head and wondered what it would be like to see her again.

Am I a friend or foe? he would ask if they met a second time.

He imagined her answer.

Both.

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In drawstring PJ bottoms and a sleeveless tee shirt that read DOGS RULE, Mike hopped out of his bed to shut their single window after the cool night rain began to tap on their sill. Once back under the covers with his book in his hands, he looked over at his friend who wore a familiar, far away expression.

Joe did have a lot on his mind. He considered again what Mike had shared while the three were seated by the creek.

You’re thinking, aren’t you?

Yeah.

Mike had told Joe and Betsy his most painful secret.

I love you, man.

Mike set his book down without looking at a page. I know.

Staring at the ceiling, Joe knew the often quoted verses in Leviticus spoke to sexual misconduct or perversion. He also knew the verses spoke to violence and darkness, not to loving relationships. His mind kept wandering. What about the others here at the Bible College? How did they read the text? What about what was taught of the city of Sodom? And what did Paul say in Romans? And in Corinthians? The Apostle made it clear: homosexuality was a sin.

Joe silently recited 1 Corinthians 6:9-10 from memory. Don’t you know that those who do wrong will have no share in the Kingdom of God? Don’t fool yourselves. Those who indulge in sexual sin, who are idol worshipers, adulterers, male prostitutes, homosexuals, thieves, greedy people, drunkards, abusers, and swindlers—none of these will have a share in the Kingdom of God.

He considered some of the courses he has had on this campus. He knew his professors, their voices, their social positions, and their attitudes which could brighten or burn a soul. Joe also knew his prof’s outdated ties and longstanding systems of belief were not going to change any time soon. In fact, one of the most revered professors on campus, a self-proclaimed dogmatist claiming to be as old as dirt had addressed the college through one of the weekly worship services toward the close of their spring semester less than a month ago. Behind the campus pulpit, which was the very voice of the school, this professor had just allowed one of his well-known pauses to seep into the souls of his listeners. Joe remembered it had been Mother’s Day, and the sermon had been about mothers and family. After that quiet moment, the professor’s voice shook the floor of the chapel. Pews trembled. God’s order, he nearly yelled after a second pause, was for the family to be that of a man and woman, husband and wife. Even though our culture seems to be doing all in its power to mock, denigrate, attack, and deny the veracity of that basic relationship, God’s truth stands.

No one in that congregation moved. Silence was consent as he continued. We who honor our mothers and our fathers must respect the institution of marriage and give it the honor it deserves.

The school’s other professors and administrators, whom Joe did respect, held similar stances. Their unshakeable biblical tenants reached right into Joe’s chest, which suddenly hollowed. What will Mike be in for here? What will happen?

Maybe they could leave. Maybe they should leave. Another school. A different theology. They could shoot up to Boston, the second largest city in the world behind Rome to house seminarians. There they could find a school that opened rather than closed, that remained accountable to the undeniable Word of God yet brought down the law of love that Jesus lived on this earth, even to death on a cross.

Yes, the two could just move. They could head off in some small moving van with their baseball caps down low on their heads and open Spark Shark soda cans raised high. Bad junk food on the bench seat between them would show cellophane wrappers waving ‘high-fives’ by way of the wind from wide open windows. Barefoot in the cab, they could jam their air guitars and dashboard drums to the sounds of all the new Christian artists. The long, winding interstate at every bend would open something new, something promising. Yes, they could go. Just go. Maybe they could leave as early as the end of this summer.

Mike could sense his roommate’s struggle, a struggle he wished he’d kept to himself because he couldn’t stand to see someone conflicted in his own mess. He propped himself up on his elbows. I can hear you getting all worried from here.

Mike.

Oh, ye of little faith. It will be fine.

Joe wasn’t sure. He had heard homosexuality was not a choice. According to many here, however, its practice was. Joe certainly understood that everyone sinned. On that front, even today, if he was honest, he knew there was a little bit of lust for the senior religious education major who served him breakfast this morning, a meal neither he nor Mike ever missed. That was a heterosexual sin though, which churned up a question. Do his heterosexual preachers single out homosexuality as some sin bigger than others?

Conflicted, Joe sat up quickly and swung his legs off his twin mattress. He suddenly thought of his dad, Dunk O’ Dell, a deacon at his home church. If Joe had this right, this was the night his dad met with newly installed deacons to talk, among other things, about an upcoming retreat this October. He knew what his dad would do at a time like this.

Let’s pray about this.

Mike also knew what to do. He sat up, too. Yeah.

A quiet moment filled their space. The two have done prayers like this many times since sharing a room. Each one sat in the middle of his own bed, bare feet on the floor. Each waited, breathed, and found the still small voice within.

Under an umbrella, a passerby on the sidewalk below would see the ideal picture of life in a Bible college: two students facing each other on their beds gathered in Christ’s name to pray. Through the rain-splattered window, they’d see just the tops of two heads bowed. If someone outside were to really peep or pause a moment longer, they’d also see Joe’s bare shoulders. Except for Joe’s smile and some truly thoughtful expressions, there was no physical interest Mike held for Joe. Nothing romanticly turned, either. Fortunately for Mike, they were what they had been from the moment they started—brothers. Oh, Mike could love Joe, in fact, Mike did love Joe, but it was simply, always in friendship.

Mike started praying out loud. The two volleyed words back and forth as their prayer pressed into the dark corners of their long, narrow room. Each man had time to talk this over with God. When they finished, Joe was the first to speak after an extended silence. I love you, man. Truth on. I do.

Love? Mike asked. What do you know of love? He waited the right amount of time to do what he always did, move any conversation about himself away. Betsy would likely say you don’t have a clue about that.

As Joe set his head back down on his truly lumpy pillow, he twisted and turned as he was prone to do before he fell asleep. Betsy, huh? He clearly recalled her smile, her eyelashes, her long hair and the sparkle of her soul. Now, who is she again?

You’re asking me?

Joe stared out the window after Mike turned both desk lights out. Uh, you were the one to introduce us. Cupid, bow, arrows.

Uh, you’re the one who owns red heart boxers.

It was true. Joe did receive goofy underwear as a gift from home this past Valentine’s Day. Red? Nah. They’re maroon.

Red.

Never one to appreciate or understand the complexity of color—for example,